


Inviting Trouble

by stitchcasual



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Blow Jobs, Dry Humping, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Under-negotiated Kink, and also an idiot, but still enemies, in which my Lavellan is Not A Good Man, this is like half porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-02-23 06:49:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23807515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stitchcasual/pseuds/stitchcasual
Summary: Mirallen Lavellan and Dorian Pavus are rival dons. Mirallen has been doing this for years and knows how to slip through complications and get what he wants with ease; Pavus is, by comparison, a wet-behind-the-ears puppy tripping on other people's territory. Mirallen should hate him. Hedoeshate him. He also can't stop thinking about him.
Relationships: Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10





	Inviting Trouble

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a [ tweet I saw](https://twitter.com/stitchcasual/status/1249725436390551553?s=19) that wouldn't leave my brain alone so now y'all get to deal with it too

“I know what I’m doing,” Mirallen said, arching one eyebrow at Vivienne over the top of the papers he held in his hand. Across the table, Vivienne looked up at him, tapped a finger on her laptop, and smiled.

“I never said you didn’t, darling.”

“Tch.”

“I merely expressed a concern over the new shipment being routed through the Silent Plains.”

“Exactly.”

Vivienne folded her hands together and leaned forward slightly. “My dear, any conclusions you are drawing there are entirely your own and, I suspect, subject to your usual flights of paranoia.”

Mirallen blinked once, slowly, then laid the reports he’d been reading face down on the table. Vivienne met his gaze squarely; the poor sod who opened the door to Mirallen's office without knocking and began speaking before looking up did not. “Sir, we received—” Mirallen shifted his eyes from Vivienne to the man interrupting them without moving anything else. The man blanched and trained his eyes on his hand still on the doorknob. “My, my deepest apologies, sir, I’ll—uh, I’ll…come back…later?”

“You will not.”

“R-right. Very good, sir.”

The door shut softly behind him, and Mirallen looked back at Vivienne, picking up where they’d left off. “My ‘flights of paranoia’ have kept us running for over ten years and made us the most powerful force in southern Thedas. Keep your opinions to yourself or I’ll forget how useful you are." He picked up his reports and began reading again. "I've switched the cargo for that group, anyway: there's a backup unit on a different route that will take it. You make it sound like I'm a lovesick adolescent who's lost all sense and reason. He's a wannabe gangster pretty boy playing with daddy's money to feel important; I know how to handle him."

* * *

Mirallen Lavellan, top of Ferelden's most wanted (with a respectable showing on charts in the Anderfels, Free Marches, and Nevarra), don of the Inquisition, and bane of drug enforcement operations, stood outside on a busy street corner, smoking a cigarette and testing a theory. Two theories, really.

Theory one: despite his position on the leaderboards of law enforcement, he was effectively invisible to the public en masse due to the limited number of photographs taken of him. So far, holding water. At least here.

Theory two: that Dorian Pavus was always fashionably late. Not that they had an appointment for him to keep, per se. Mirallen was simply waiting for Pavus to make his way to the high-end boutique he used as a front in Starkhaven. Several of Mirallen’s more trusted people had been tailing Dorian since he began his rounds this morning, at 10:30 after a leisurely breakfast; Mirallen had been finished with his own rounds before the man even woke up.

He was a well dressed man at all times, fashionable thanks to Vivienne's interventions early in their acquaintanceship. Today he wore dark gray trousers and a white button down shirt, unbuttoned to just below his clavicle, exposing a small expanse of light brown skin. A red silk scarf hung around his neck, a sharp counterpoint to his rust-colored hair. He'd pulled half of his hair up into a hair tie, letting the rest feather around his neck. Tomorrow he'd be sure to tie it all back: it felt sloppy like this, no matter that Vivienne had nodded approvingly when she saw it that morning.

The phone in his pocket buzzed, letting him know Pavus had left the stop before this one. If Mirallen were walking the route, it would take five minutes. Pavus? Probably closer to ten. Or fifteen. Mirallen sighed, tapped out another cigarette, lit it from the stub of his last one, and settled back to wait.

Thirty minutes and another cigarette later, Dorian Pavus strode through the doors of the shop. Mirallen waved one of his people in after Pavus and the other across the street to where he stood. He listened to the report given, nodded his thanks, and dismissed them with a wave of his hand. He waited another twenty minutes for Pavus to exit the building and continue on his way, and another two after that for his person to exit and make her way over to him, report on what she overheard, and leave him alone.

Mirallen pocketed the butts of his cigarettes and left the street corner himself, mulling over the new information. Obviously he wouldn't act on any of it immediately, he wasn't a novice, though some of it was incredibly tempting. His eyes narrowed. Of course it was. That bastard.

He didn't have anyone tailing Pavus the rest of the day, even the most inexperienced person can tell they're being followed if it goes on long enough, but he knew approximately where Pavus was likely to go, based on previous surveillance. Mirallen had had people following the Magisters for years: always smart to keep abreast of the competition. He smiled at the receptionist of the building he entered after calling Vivienne over lunch and concisely informing her of the situation, and assured them that, appointment or not, Mr. Pavus would want to see him when he returned.

* * *

"To what do I owe this most dubious pleasure?"

Pavus handed one of the two glasses of wine to Mirallen and sat down in the other plush armchair in his office, crossing his legs and taking an appreciative sip. He obviously felt safe here, within his own holdings, and Mirallen suppressed a smirk. Pavus was the image of a pretentious playboy: shining Oxfords, black pinstripe slacks, his noisy, red-patterned shirt open scandalously low now that he was in private, the sides of his head shaved in an affectation of youth. Neither of them were old men, but they were both, according to Mirallen's research on his competitor, closer to middle age than the leaders of many of the other groups baying at their heels. It made Pavus dangerous, with so much to prove, but Mirallen hadn’t lost his fangs yet either.

The office Pavus had led him to upon his return to the building matched the man who owned it, overblown but just barely on the side of tasteful. Where Mirallen's office was designed for efficiency, everything in its place with few extraneous objects like art or knick knacks, Pavus's was simply filled with them. The chairs were plush and comfortable, the side tables intricately carved, the wine obviously imported. If Mirallen didn’t know this was an ancillary office, he might assume it was the man’s home base for all the obvious care taken in decorating it.

“You’re encroaching on my territory.”

“Straight to business, I see. Pity.”

Mirallen did not roll his eyes, he had more self control than that, and instead took out his travel kit, dipped a strip into the wine he’d been given, and waited the full minute for the reading to come back negative to known poisons. Then he took a cautious drink, relying on his senses to catch anything the test didn’t that might be amiss. 

“Please,” Pavus said, “As though I’d stoop to something so low while you’re a guest in my home away from home.”

He looked and sounded truly offended, and Mirallen quirked his lips at that. Pavus had made some truly bold and inspired choices since taking charge of the Magisters a few years ago, Mirallen would freely admit that, but comments like this made it abundantly clear that he was still new to the way the game was played.  _ Adorable. _

“Visit me, sometime. I’ll show you exactly what you should have stooped to.”

Pavus leaned forward, one elbow on his knee, and twitched his eyebrows in what could only be described as a sinful gesture. “Don’t tempt me, Lavellan. Or do you enjoy playing with fire?”

“Hardly. But it’s obvious no one taught you how to behave around your peers, so I suppose it’s on me to correct that.”

“How magnanimous of you.”

“Indeed. Now. My territory. You understand I don’t place stock in unsubstantiated rumors, but even I must draw the line somewhere.” Mirallen leaned forward to mirror Pavus. “You will not run anything across the Waking Sea. I will tolerate competition in the Marches and Nevarra, but Ferelden is mine. Back off.”

Pavus smirked and set his wine glass on a side table. “And how do you imagine you’ll get me to stop? Besides, you said yourself it’s a rumor. A bit pathetic to be crawling in here to beg me to drop plans you don’t know I’ve made, don’t you think?”

Mirallen took another sip of his wine before setting his glass aside as well. “Oh, I never beg.” He stood up and crossed the room, bending down to trap Pavus in his chair with one hand on each armrest. His legs straddled Pavus’s. “That’s your job.”

He lifted one hand and grabbed Pavus’s chin, turning his head to the side to allow access to his neck. Mirallen closed his lips on the soft skin there, placing a few tender kisses before biting down and sliding his teeth back and forth, coaxing a bruise into Pavus's flesh. Through it all, the man underneath him stayed silent and motionless until Mirallen pulled away. Then Pavus reached up to touch his reddened neck and smirked.

"Is that all?"

And it should be, it absolutely should be. Mirallen should not have even been here, much less done what he did. He should leave.

“You’ll wish it was.”

“Promises, promises.”

Mirallen fisted his hand into Pavus’s hair where it ran long on the top and jerked him forward until his nose pressed against the crotch of Mirallen’s neat gray trousers. “I’d advise keeping quiet, unless you want your staff to see their boss with my dick down his throat when they open that door to investigate.”

Pavus moaned, and Mirallen tightened his grip. “Shh,” he said, and Pavus swallowed the next obscene noise he was about to make.

“Good.” 

Pavus preened a little at the praise, and Mirallen felt an answering rush through his head. He ignored it. Still with one hand in Pavus's hair, stroking and pulling by turns, Mirallen undid his belt, letting it hang open to the sides. The buckle hit Pavus's face, a mostly unintentional but entirely welcome happening for the shocked, erotic gasp it elicited from Pavus. Mirallen dragged Pavus's head away from his crotch with some effort, undid the button and zipper on his pants, and freed his cock, already more than half hard.

He breathed slowly through his nose, retaining his self-control, and then spoke: "You're going to put your hands on my thighs and not move them while you suck me off, and when I'm done, I'm going to leave. You'll cancel any…potential plans to encroach on my territory, because if you don't, I will kill you. Oh," he added, almost as an afterthought, "and if you want to get off this time, you'll just have to get creative. I'm not doing it for you."

Pavus licked his lips, his groan of assent cut short by Mirallen hauling him forward again, forcing Pavus's mouth to open wider around the head of his cock. Pavus choked, then adjusted, and his hands rose to grip the sides of Mirallen's thighs, squeezing and kneading in time with the slide of his lips against Mirallen's shaft. 

Mirallen watched, one hand still threaded through Pavus’s hair, as Pavus slid off his chair and onto his knees, shuffling around to awkwardly straddle Mirallen's shin. Mirallen didn't move an inch. He stood stock still, staring down at the man at his feet, and wondered why this victory felt hollow.

Pavus was talented, there was no denying it, even with his hands unable to do anything other than clench at Mirallen's flesh through his pant legs. He could do things with his tongue Mirallen never expected, and the way the back of his throat worked around the tip of the dick in his mouth nearly broke Mirallen’s careful composure several times. Satisfaction coursed through him at the sight of Pavus grinding his hips up against Mirallen's leg, seeking enough friction to get himself over the edge. But he felt nothing like he’d expected he would when he’d maneuvered his rival into this position, and even as he tugged harshly on Pavus’s hair to keep him flush against his hips as he came, it was only an orgasm. No relief followed in its wake. 

Unexpectedly, Pavus moaned around him a second later, his thrusts growing erratic. Mirallen clenched his jaw and smoothed any expression from his face before nearly throwing Pavus away from him, to writhe his finish on the carpet of his office.

Without a word, Mirallen tucked himself back into his pants, tossed back the remains of the wine still in its glass beside his chair, and left Pavus’s office, brushing strands of dark hair from his fingers. Once was a mistake, a result of circumstance and a moment’s poor judgment. Twice was unfortunate but not a habit: he hadn’t meant to meet Pavus in that alley in Perivantium, after all. Three times, well, that was just inviting trouble. Four? Unconscionable. It couldn't happen again.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are welcome and loved! 
> 
> I'm active on [twitter](http://twitter.com/stitchcasual) where I'm currently bouncing between so many fandoms, but I always come back to dragon age


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